


To Be Young and in Love

by VoldemortIncarnate, WhoNeedsSleepAnyway (VoldemortIncarnate)



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoldemortIncarnate/pseuds/VoldemortIncarnate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoldemortIncarnate/pseuds/WhoNeedsSleepAnyway
Summary: Kartik is sunshine and breeze and that extra dollop of sugar you sneak into your routine. Aman is piano ballads and daisy white and banned poetry you read at midnight.......I am yet to come to terms with this unusual obsession of mine. Till then, here is a series of drabbles song fics for you!
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

Kartik is sunshine and breeze and that extra dollop of sugar you sneak into your routine. Aman is piano ballads and daisy white and banned poetry you read at midnight.

......

I am yet to come to terms with this unusual obsession of mine. Till then, here is a series of drabbles song fics for you!


	2. That Time of the Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is that time of the month again!
> 
> However, this time Kartik has an interesting idea to get himself out of the impending mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't murder me, it's still unedited.

It was "that" time of the month again.

Little did the unfortunate table calendar know that it was going to spewn across the room and into the hall within moments of Kartik realising what day it was.

Kartik and Aman had mutually decided that they Aman- a borderline hostel-mess chef in the body of a tiny, physics teacher- would cook during the first half of the month, and Kartik during the latter half. Aman and Kartik completed each other in every way possible; one filled in all the cracks anf crevices of the other (all puns intended). They could battle the world to keep their love afloat, they could die for each. But cooking for each other?

Oh, that is a different game altogether. 

To say the least, Aman was the kind of person who would put bread to toast without plugging in the toaster and Kartik would arrange an unwraped slice of cheese between the same slices of bread and wonder when exactly did they start selling plastic-flavoured cheese.

Aman would often ring up Mrs. Tripathi back and Allahabad, inquiring of her the recipes of all the dishes that Aman himself had grown to love since he was a child. That would solve a part of the problem for him. It did things for Aman pinterest and reddit recipes could not for Kartik.

That is just why Kartik loved the first fifteen nights of any month. Aman would stand over the stove. Maa's call would be on speaker a few inches away from him. Once Aman had managed to distinguish between green beans and asparagus, he would finally set to preparing their prospective meal for the night. His eyes focused and narrowed, sweat beads forming on his brow, Aman -Kartik would tell you- looked incredibly sexy in the yellow apron Kartik had bought him a few months back. 

Kartik's arm would find it's way around his waist. He would shift to rest his chin in the crook of Aman's neck, making sure that his nose ring is brushing against his skin. After effectively locking Aman between his arms, he would sway a little. The smaller (depending on whom you ask and in what context) man would be able to feel Kartik's warm smile press against his skin. 

A few seconds into this sacred back hug, Aman would mean back into Kartik's chest, inching his face closer to his. 

"Arre, Aman beta." Aman would mentally let out a resenting sigh, his body jerking vback into their reality of haphazard rotis and over salted curry. "Tu sunn raha hai? Zyaada namak matt daal dena phirse."

.........

Kartik's share of the month, however, was... catastrophic?

"Bro, itne dino se pizza nahin khaaya. Chall aaj order karte hain na!" 

"Yaar Aman, tujhe toh waise bhi chai biscuit pasand hain. Kahin likha hai ki chai biscuit dinner mein nahin kha sakte?"

"You know, we should start eating healthy. Fruit salad bhi bura idea nahin hai."

Kartik would almost always have a way out of doning the apron. Almost always.

Today, however, he was not that lucky. 

Zomata wasn't delivering in their area that day. They had run out of Aman's favourite biscuits. The fruit tray was empty.

Hell was all set was to break lose.

Aman had had a long day. Kartik knew it by the way he was responding to his text with short, dry sentences. The brave and strong Kartik was reduced to a scared little mess at the thought of Aman's annoyance.

Kartik was pacing along the length of their living room when he heard Aman's bike pull up. By then, Kartik was on the absolute verge of tearing his hair out. As he heard Aman get off the bike, his heart dialled up to a 150 beats per minute. 

("Bhakk, saale!" Aman would've said. "Bio padhi hai Maine, aise kuch nahin hota."

"Aur maine literature," Kartik would counter, wiggling his lovely eyebrows in that lovely wiggle. "Humare department mein hamesha hota hai, bro."

Aman would role his eyes at his boyfriend's antics, getting back to the work (read: Kartik, mostly) which needed to be done. )

Kartik stopped.dead in his track. His eyes had landed themselves just where they should have.

Aman's cute little yellow apron was resting on a shelf in the kitchen.

Kartik had an idea, that too, one that would interest them both to the fullest.  
...........................................

"Naam badal dena agar isne aaj khaana banaya ho," Aman whispered to himself as he ascended to the patio of his home- Their home. 

His already exhausted body was further being tortured by the heavy packets he had being carrying. On his way back from the tutions, he had picked up some dinner (and dessert) for the two of them. He had lived with Kartik for God knows how many years and he was too used to his pathetic excuses for not having cooked a dinner every second day.

Aman usually did not mind, but somewhere, he knew that his sheer inability to cook made Kartik feel bad about himself. Beneath all the flamboyance, Kartik Singh Tripathi was a sucker for homemade food and what a shame, he would think, that he could cook none for himself. Plus, the fact that during his half of the month, Aman would stir out of sleep for midnight and "midnight+2 hours" snacks more often, made him feel that he was not caring for Aman as much as he should.

Tucking the paper packets under his arms, he clumsily reaches out for his keys from depths of his coat pockets. He realises that the house is more quite than Kartik would ever be comfortable with. He twists the key in the lock and makes his way in through the door.

He walks straight(read:gay) to their living room. He was all ready to find Kartik dramatically hitting his head against the adjoining kitchen wall because he had burned something again. No, he first needed to place the food packets away carefully, in case Kartik decided that he needs to bear hug his way out of cooking this time.

"Aur, bhaisahab? Khaana wana bana hai aaj?"

His stomach let out an involuntary growl. Aman was placing the packets on the couch (yes, they had a centre table in that room, but it's Aman we're talking about). 

"Khaane ki kya zaroorat hai, jaan?" 

Aman froze.

Jaan? 

He jerked his head towards the entrance of the kitchen, too shocked to make a sound. His mouth fell open by itself, his pupils dilating more than they ideally would. He eyed his lover from his head to the toe.

"Main kaafi nahin hoon Kya?" 

Kartik let out these words in a low,seductive whisper, knowing full well just what it did to his baby. He places this arms across his chest and leans against the door frame.

Aman had not moved an inch. It was a trick, he wanted to snap awake from this spell and reprimand Kartik for not cooking dinner once again- oh, fuck it. 

To hell with the dinner.

It would have been an achievement for Aman to even remember how to speak, or let out low sighs and whispers of Kartik's name.

After all, how else would you expect a man to react if his husband was right there, offering him the most delicious and satisfying of all meals, wearing an apron too tiny for his body, and leaning against the doorway like one of Michelangelo's fine sculptures.

Aman knew that he was in for an interesting dinner that night.

...and he fact that he was wearing nothing but the apron certainly did not help the situation either.

................


	3. "Who Doesn't?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or how I imagine their first " I love you" must have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too sleepy to edit rn.

As carefree and bouyant as Kartik Singh may seem, he was a sucker for details and special dates when it came to Aman. 

His aman. 

If you were to leave to Kartik, he'll find a reason to celebrate everyday of the year. Because that is just how he was. He had never been good at the receiving end of such uncontional affection, and had never before met a person who deserved a share of his intense sentiments. Aman was special, he was the one Kartik earnestly opened upto. This was the love he truly wanted to celebrate.

Kartik had been waiting for today, with bated breath and on the edge of his seat ( that is, Aman's lap). Two years ago today, Aman had strided nervously into their shared apartment (and Kartik's heart) for the first time. 

That was reason enough for Kartik to throw a lavish party, but he settled on a more private affair. He pushed Aman into the bathroom, making excuse about how he reeked of his coaching classes and how that was something too intellectual to step foot in the Singh household. 

A very agitated Aman walked out a few minutes later to a pitch dark apartment. He walked out of the bathroom, a towel loosely hanging around his waist and his now wet hair sticking to the nape back of his neck and covering hai forehead. He knew that Kartik was upto something. 

"Kart-" 

His call was cut short by a brilliant blaze coming from where he remembered his apartment couch to be. Kartik had made a pillow fort out of cushions and sheets and had decorated it at rims with a strand of golden, button shaped fairy lights. Kartik had- apparently- manage to conjure out a teddy pair and a fluffy giraffe out of nowhere and had seated them at theEdges of the couch. Aman internally snickered at the parallels

Kartik, on the other hand, was desperately trying to not be distracted by how delicious Aman could possibly look. He had his research done and his speech written, but one look at Aman, with drops of water still racing down his chest, leaving in their wake moisture that made his body shimmer and-

"KARTIK!"

His mental meal was disrupted by Aman calling Out to him, his eyes demanding an explanation for this surprise. 

"Kyun, pasand nahin aaya tujhe?" Kartik said, suddenly drawing his body into stuff attentiveness and clearing his throat.

"Pasand?" Aman exclaimed quizically, once again cocking his head in every direction to take in the sheer effort Kartik had put into setting up this special date for them. " Kartik, meri jaan, Pasand shabd understatement hai."

Kartik mouth hosts a smile that stretches from one ear to another, as he draws in a breath of pride over his work. His arms fold one his chest, as his eyes survey - for the 5277th time- his little magnum opus of bedsheets and pillows. 

It catches him off guard when Aman closes in towards him with eyes closed and delivers a soft kiss.

Aman draws away, but Kartik is unable to open his eyes. His gargantuan grin is now replaced by lips slightly parted- in heat and in disbelief. 

'Aye, Kartik, concentrate.' 

Kartik knew he shouldn't indulge in post-dinner activities before their meal, lest he wanted some really good Rajma Chawal to go to waste.

He lifted his eyelids slowly, Aman watched his mess of a boyfriend intently.

Kartik cleared his throat once again, and took Aman's hands in his. They were tiny compared to his hands, and Kartik could not help but feel a warmth somewhere deep within at this revelation. He proceeded to roll his fingers around his, closing his palm into a fist. Kartik gave Aman a brief look and brought his hands up to his lips and kissed his wrists ever so lightly. 

Aman was breathless. Kartik was usually all wild and adventurous, so naturally, a soft, patient Kartik made Aman go weak in the knees.

Kartik took a step towards the couch, pulling Aman along, and settled himself on it. Aman followed and soon noted that the lights made their couch all the more cosy from where they were sitting.

"Woh..Aman.."

Aman gave him a nod to proceed. Kartik could not believe how impossibly beautiful he seemed under the golden glow.

"Tujhe yaad hai aaj Kya hai?"

"Humari anniversary mein abhi do maheene hain, hain na?"

"Arre, anniversary nahin hai!"

"Tera birthday toh July mein hota hai aur mera toh nikal chuka, toh..."

Aman threw his arms out in surrender.

"Pata hai, ek saal pehle, aaj ke din hi you moved in with me." 

As the words left his mouth, Kartik felt sheepish. Had he overdone it? 

"Sach mein? Tujhe yaad hai?"

No, he hadn't. Kartik Singh could never do something humanly possible that will be too much for Aman Tripathi. Aman deserve all of this and even more, more than the world had in it to offer.

"Haan, main woh din kaise bhool sakta hoon, Aman Tripathi, jis din tu-" Kartik withdrew his hands from Aman s hands every so carefully and dramatically pointed towards his heart, "- iss dil mein apne boring se suitcase aur kitabein lekar iss dil mein bhaga chala aaya tha." 

Kartik had more to say, but he stopped when he saw Aman's eyes start to wet themselves. 

"Kartik- " he started, and completed his sentence by launching his body onto Kartik. He hugged him with all force he could muster, letting his arms squeeze his back. Kartik pulled him forward, seating him onto his lap. He moved his fingers into Aman's slightly damp hair. He was reminded of how they were ever so fluffy after he gave them a wash.

Pulling back slightly, Aman whispered, "Thanks, Kartik."

"Aye, chee. Dosti mein no sorry, no thank you."

"Kuch nahin ho sakta tumahara." 

"Woh toh hai hi."

"Nautanki saala."

"Arre, main toh paida hi aise hua the, Aman Baby."

"Hadd hai, Kartik!"

"Itni bhi tareef matt karo, Mujhe Sharma aa jaati hai."

"... I love you, Kartik Singh."

"Who Doesn't, huh, Aman Tri-"

He let his words be cut mid sentence. The weight of those 8 letters dawned on him. Kartik was brought to realise that this moment was too sacred to make a joke.

This was the first time Aman had said it out loud.

These words had always been there in the way Aman curled up against Kartik's chest and told him that he could listen to his heartbeat all day, or how he would leave piles of uncorrected answer scripts to look after themselves while Kartik made him dance like an idiot to Arre Pyaar Karle. It was in the way Aman had slowly learned to let his fingers weave themselves with Kartik's in public, and how he appreciated the guitar Kartik was always to lazy to tune. It was in the tiny little things that made up Aman, Kartik's Aman. 

It was the same Aman, just brave, unashamed, and uncensored.

Kartik placed a gentle kiss on his hair. 

"I love you too, Aman." 

And then they burst out laughing. Aman was the one who started it. It always happens when things became too serious and the blush in their cheeks threatened to explode. Kartik leaned back against the armrest and Aman onto his chest. 

It was just the beginning of their very special evening filled with Amitabh Bachchan movies, Rajma Chawal, and Kartik and Aman saying those three words over and over again because they loved the way they felt on their breath.

Oh, and of course, the post-dinner activities that they somehow still had energy to dive into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how the chapter was in the comments, they really mean a lot!💛


	4. Capital Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three days since their return from Allahabad. Aman has reasons enough to be extra proud of Kartik, their love, and himself. Featuring the Pride Flag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month, Everyone! 🏳️🌈
> 
> [Inspired by Capital Letters (by Hailee Steinfeld)]

Aman's sluggish form rested beside the laundry machine- literally, with his hands clutching onto its top and his bleary eyes half closed to block out the first rays of the morning sun. 

It was their third day back at the Apartment after the Allahabad Fiasco. As the adrenaline faded, pain came to knack every joint in their bodies as days of emotional overwhelm and sleep deprivation took over their senses- even more so with Kartik, with those discoloured bruises running across his body. Aman could not even get himself to look at him as his hands worked their way to coat them with ointment.

He did not want to bother Kartik, not right now anyway, but their apartment had started to stink and become nauseating. The apartment floor had been oh, so finely coated with an ever thickening layer of dust. The stack of dishes beside their bed had become the third wheel they never had. Kartik had not changed out of his Hulk T-shirt since the day of their return. 

Such disorder could not persist under the eyes of our mother hen, now, could it?

Aman decided to start with the clothes, partially because he had run out of enough clothes to wear. Aman emptied their suitcases on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his mouth turned into a disgruntled snarl.

Why on earth does Kartik own a matching jacket for every shirt? 

Why did he have to carry 10 pairs plus 2 pairs of traditional indian attire for a 3 day trip?

Oh, also, whose idea was it to bring along Kusum's wedding Saari as a souvenir? 

Aman sighs. Although he cannot be thankful enough for the dramatic goofball of a man in his life, it wouldn't be wrong to say that he could conveniently gut him for his madness and deviance on some days.

Today was one of those days.

His limp fingers somehow found the dial of the machine and turned it on. Loading the clothes was next. He fetched Kartik's jackets one by one and fed it to the machine. Aman's hands worked on automatic mode as he let his eyes close completely. One jacket, and another, and another, and-

He paused at the sensation of a foreign material against the tips of his fingers.

Suman' s Saari was in another room and neither of them owned a silk shirt or a jacket. This couldn't be their boxers either, so-

Aman peeped through his right eye- which took an agonisingly long time to focus- to look at the material in his hands.

Oh.

It was their flag.

The flag Kartik had bought 10 months too early for the next pride month. The flag he always kept at the top of his clothes in the closet, just in case of a sort of emergency Aman did not really understand. The flag Kartik had carried to Allahbad. He said it gave him strength to look at it and not let his past deter him making a lunge, the best he could, for his future. For their future.

It was the flag that shielded Kartik through whatever it's flimsy self could muster when Aman had run- no, no, no. He could not go there. Not right now. 

Aman looked at it, scanned over the seven blazing colours. His eyes were wide open now. 

Yes, his eyes, his heart and his soul were wide open now. He decided to take a moment and let his form slump against the cool tiles, hugging the flag close to his heart.

In that moment, things made sense to him. His own self made sense to him. 

He had always preferred to, in a strange way, life his life in lowercase letters. Words would spring into existence and then melt away in his mouth. He wouldn't dare to know himself. He wasn't quite a believer and never had a thing for fairytales, hell, one for him did not even exist. His parent loved him and he knew he had to be the child they wanted to pay off the debt of their love.

Love?

But love is not something you a pay a monthly rent to avail. It does not come with a list of terms and conditions attached. Love is not a debt.

Love is unconditional, and Kartik Singh had popped into his monochrome, lowercase life to show Aman just that.

He pulled his form up, these revelations could wait for a later moment. He warmed some water, the other clothes all forgotten. Yes, he was out of the nicer lot of his clothes, but not like Kartik would mind a half naked Aman anyway. He had more important things to do.

..............................

An hour later when Kartik walked into the living room with a direly needed cup of coffee, there rested their flag, right in the middle of their living room wall. Kartik smiled. He should have seen this coming.

Kartik had noticed, he always noticed those little things. It was in the way he hadnt let go of his arm once throughout their detour to the pharmacy ( to buy the ointment, why else?).It was in how Aman's search history had been filled with tattoo designs searches. It was in the way Aman had kissed him on the train in their tiny, squeezed up compartment on their way back from Allahabad.

This was Aman, absolutely unashamed and ready to be seen and sure of who he was. He was sure of the man he loved and how he wouldn't ever have to choose between the two parts of his life anymore. He was sure and he was proud.

Very, very proud.

Kartik was so lost in his charade of thoughts that he almost failed to noticed Aman's arms creeping around his waist and desperate (read: failed) attempt at perching his chin on Kartik's shoulders. 

"Yeh sab toh theek hai, par tum utni upar pohoche kaise?" Kartik said casually. 

["Leaving everything aside, who did you manage to reach that high anyway?"]

Aman wanted to punch the daylights out of him but decided otherwise, you know, considering his father had overdone his share anyway. 

"I didn't want to send it back to your closet, so..." Aman muttered.

"No one should be sent back to the closet." Kartik grabbed Aman by his arms and brought him to the front, looping his own arms around his waist. He placed a kiss to the top of his head. "I am so proud of you, tumhein pata hai na?" 

[" I am so proud of you, you know that right?"]

"Din mein paanch baar bolte ho, pata hi hoga."

["You say that five times a day, how am I not supposed to know?]

Neither of them said another word, they did not need to. It was time to draw the curtains and throw them away forever. It was their turn to love each other in capital letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how this was in the comments down below, they really get me going.💛
> 
> To everyone from the Community,  
> I need you to know that whether or not I've met you or spoken to you, regardless of whether you're out to the the people around you- or anyone at all- or not, I'm proud of you. I really am. My pride just stretches itself to its extremes this month.


	5. Never Let You Down (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heated argument causes Kartik's past to resurface. 
> 
> READ THE TW IN THE NOTES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DOMESTIC ABUSE, NON-CON, CHILD ABUSE, GRAPHIC
> 
> Trauma is bad. If anything related to the subject matter triggers you, I implore you not to read it. DO NOT READ.

"Aman, for fuck' s sake, are you even listening to me!" 

It had been a long day at work. Longer so for Kartik and Aman. Kartik had taken upon himself to pick up Aman from his coaching institute. They knew the routine: Kartik would drive up to the Institute, give Aman a call, and they would ride back home. Maybe they would stop somewhere for an ice cream or something, but that's it.

"Tu bakwaas karega toh kyun sununga tumhari baatein? "

[ "Who's gonna listen if you keep talking shit? "]

His class was underperforming and their parents were on his heels. Like, was he supposed to magically make every kid a physics topper if all they ever did was sleep in his class and chat? 

"Bakwaas? Matlab koi bhi aake-?"

( "I'm the one talking shit? Right, so anyone can-?") 

Kartik had stood right outside the gate, resting his rear against the leather seat of the bike. He was swiping through his phone when his eyes shot up for a blink only to see Aman coming his way. He was, however, not alone.

"Koi bhi nahin tha woh! Physics Department ka head tha."

[" He wasn't just anyone! He was the head of the Physics Department." ]

Another man was practically lounging his body onto Aman's. He let his arms warp around his shoulders and his face was too close to Aman for Kartik's liking. 

"Head tha toh? That does not entitle him to behave that way."

[" yeah, so?"]

As soon as the two saw Kartik, the man straightened himself up and throwing a snort at Kartik, walked away from them. Aman - a bit too tired and frustrated- silently climbed on the bike. It was like a silent deal. They did not speak about it throughout the ride. He let Aman rest his head rest on his back.

"Tumhein vishwas nahin hai mujhpe?"

[" Is it that you don't trust me?"]

Aman could see the discomfort on Kartik's face. His eyes were a bit too downcast and they refused to meet Aman's. He was the one who cut through this awkward silence with a "Kartik, it's not what you think."

For the next hour, they had sat in the living room, still in their sweaty work clothes. In Aman's eyes, he was being treated unfairly. The man was literally his boss, he could not have just asked him to get off him. For Kartik, his insecurity and disgust was valid. No one could invade his boyfriend's personal space that way. He did not doubt Aman. Hell, he wasn't even jealous.

Aman got up. His hands went up in the air as he took a step towards Kartik. 

"You know what," he started. "You, Kartik Singh, don't have a single bit of right to tell me who I hang out out with."

Aman was just frustrated, Kartik could see through it. They should have never started this conversation today. 

"Aman, babe, you know that's what I meant."

Aman let out a laugh. It was sarcastic and cold. This wasn't Aman speaking, Kartik kept reminding himself. This was just the pent up anger.

"Is that so?" Aman glared at him. "Kartik Singh doesn't think that his boyfriend is someone else FUCK TOY?"

It had started. Aman was already in the zone Kartik did not want to be in. The next few yells and justifications were a blur.

"Aman, please, don-" Kartik backed up against the wall.

" IF THAT IS HOW LITTLE TRUST YOU HAVE IN ME, THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE." 

Aman took another step towards Kartik. Kartik needed to hold something. He could not believe the words spilling out of his lover's mouths. 

_It's not him. It's not him. It's not him._

Kartik repeated to himself. He needed to hold onto something. His fingers traced the wall behind his back, looking for something to grip. 

"YOU DON'T CONTROL ME, KARTIK. YOU HEAR ME?"

Another step. 

Kartik could not take it. He was falling.

_Kartik had been there too many times. He could not take it when people yelled. He could not take it when someone looked at him with venom dripping through their eyes and from their words. He could not take it when someone looked at him and drew so close, so threatiningly close, as though they would..._

Aman raised his hand.

_... as though they would hit him._

_The cool breeze of Delhi's evening disappeared as he was back in his one room shack. He was looked on with dread at his father unbuckled his pants and yanked his younger form away from his hiding corner and onto his stomach. The man with his stomach bloated with alcohol and eyes blinded by rage climbed on to Kartik, crushing his naked, petite body under him. His rough, half burned hands held onto Kartik's back as he entered him with force._

_"YAHI PASAND HAI NA TUJHE!"_

_[ "That's what you like, eh?"]_

_The older man rammed into him. Kartik struggled underneath. His nails scratched on to the stone floor. He could already feel.them bleed. He knew it was of no use. He looked back just in time to see his father raise his belt and smack it onto his back._

_His body was on fire. His father thrusted into him ruthlessly, as he belted his back. Again, and again, and again. It was like hot iron against his body. Kartik was drowning in pain, he could not see anything, hear anything. Sense anything. Pain. Pain washed over him in merciless waves as he drifted off and-_

Kartik screamed and choked and fell to the floor. He crouched away from Aman, using his arms to shield his body from him. His back against the walls, his knees drawn up oh, so close. His shoudlers were taught as breath burst in and out of his body.

He made himself smaller. Curled into himself a bit more. He had been here too many times, and he could not take it...

"... I'm sorry. I'm so-rry. Don't"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard for me to write this.   
> Once again, comments and constructive criticism by fellow writers would be appreciated.


End file.
